Letters to You
by quoth-the-pigeon
Summary: "Arthur had broke up with Francis. It was over. Done. He couldn't deal with this any longer." FrUK
1. A Tree

Hello everyone! I hope you are all well and life is treating you fair. This is a one shot I wrote (writing...ending isn't done) and decided to divvy it up into very short chapters...so no more long ridiculous length! :D I wrote this myself, obviously consulted Kagebecks27 to make sure Francis is in character and Arthur isn't too...eh. So here you go, _Letters to You_...the cause of my tragic romance marathon.

_Chris

* * *

Golden sunlight was seeping through the venetian blinds, sending the room into stripes of liquid gold and contrasting cool shadows. It was cold, even with the comforter bunched over the bed and his hips and Arthur shivered slightly. He cracked open an eye, glaring at the obscured ceiling. He shifted– turning his head to look at the empty expanse of the bed and then shut his eyes, pressing his face into the coolness the pillows offered. After a few moments he flipped back onto his side, staring blindly at the windows.

He hated this. He hated waking up alone. Arthur hefted a sigh, rolled over again and sat up. Green stared at the floor, looking at his bare feet and the scratches carved into the dark wood. It felt forced to get up– to start another lonely morning. But at remembering why he was currently alone, he bristled in anger. England stood up, padding over to the closet, and pulled the door open roughly.

He glared at his clothes since he had no other outlet for his anger. It was that bloody frog's entire fault. All his fault. Arthur put his hand against the frame as he looked down at the floor, another wave of anger crashing over his thoughts. His mind flickered towards the source of his problems as he began to sift through the hanged clothes, looking for something suitable to wear for the day.

It had been the last time he had left Arthur hanging. He had been sick and tired with it, the forgotten dates or the missed meetings, but something had always allowed for Arthur to forgive Francis and continue on in their relation. This time had been the last straw. England fingered through the ties in his closet, finding the dingy grey one that Francis had hated and pulled it away from the rack.

The dinner was for their anniversary. Arthur had even capitulated cooking it (like he had wanted) and had reserved a table at a restaurant he knew Francis enjoyed. And then he had been left waiting with no sign of showing, no call, not even a note. And he had waited. Oh yes, Arthur had waited for nearly four hours before finally leaving and heading back home in the cold rain alone. At first he had thought something terrible had happened, until that is he had caught up to him in the morning and England had found out that he simply had forgotten.

Arthur put on the tie after his shirt, sweater and pants and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. His hand pulled against the banister, emitting a squeaking noise. As he walked into the kitchen, he took a short look outside to see the unusual brilliant blue of the morning sky. England scowled and began to procure himself breakfast.

Grabbing the pan from the cabinets and placing it on the lit stove, he moved to the fridge, took out the eggs, and cracked one into the heated metal pan. As he watched it cook, his mind began to wonder back to what happened.

Over the phone, outraged at what had happened, Arthur had broke up with Francis. It was over. Done. He couldn't deal with this any longer. There had been unkind words, both from Arthur and Francis, and Arthur had slammed the phone back into the receiver.

Arthur flipped the egg, frowning at the black smoke already steaming from it.

After only a day of silence Francis had called, but Arthur had ignored it– still furious. Francis had called every day for a week, giving a myriad of apologies on Arthur's answering machine. England had been too angry and deleted most of them, still refusing to call him. After the week had passed, Francis had shown up to his door and Arthur had ignored his existence until he left. The next day he had shown up again until Arthur got fed up and yelled a few choice words, which in return elicited a few more from the other man and a yelling match had occurred until Arthur shoved him out of his home. '_Don't ever talk to me again. I hate you!_' England had snapped and slammed his door, thus beginning his solitude.

His fire alarm went off, the shrill beeping making his ears feel as though they were about to bleed and he looked down to the charred black mass that had once been his egg. He waved his hand, clearing the smoke, and moved the pan from the burner. England turned around and moved to open the window, the choicest of curses falling from his mouth. While the grey smoke dissipated slowly, he ignored the shrill alarm and scrapped the remnants of the egg into the garbage and pulled an apple from a stone bowl on the counter. Filling the kettle with water, Arthur sighed as the alarm finally went off and moved to the pantry to pull out his tea. He swore again when the tin was empty.

Arthur stormed over to the dining room table planning to maim his apple in pent up aggression when something red caught the corner of his eye. He stopped to stare at it, blinking in confusion. On his kitchen table was a single red rose.

Placing the apple down, he studied the rose in confusion. How had it gotten there? His frown deepened and he moved towards the oak table, fingers hovering over the petals. _Francis_. It was obviously from his ex and he could have slapped himself at remembering he had never demanded the spare key from the Frenchman. Arthur grit his teeth, grabbing the rose roughly.

He should just crush it right now. He should throw it in the trash and never look at it again. It was probably just an excuse he could have used to molest England or something. And yet Arthur held the rose gently between his fingers, gazing at it forlornly. Watching the light enhance the hue of the petal, he fingered the rose, bruising the flower and unleashing the cloying scent.

He hated that he missed France, and wished the only thing he felt were anger towards the other man. In truth, he missed him too much because he loved him– and that hurt more then the anger. So now he was left staring at the rose, deciding its fate. He moved back to the kitchen and tossed it amongst his cutlery, slamming the drawer shut.

England turned off the stove and moved out to the entryway, grabbing his light spring coat, wallet, and keys; he slipped on his shoes and scurried out the door to walk about town. It was his day off and he was going to enjoy it, without reminders of the golden haired Frenchman. Arthur locked the door behind him, took a deep breath of the late spring air and began to walk towards downtown.

* * *

The busy town was a nice place to be during the calm spring day. There were vendors selling outside on the street, families strolling around, and singles walking their dogs. To his dismay though, the spring weather also brought out the young couples whom seemed to congregate around the benches and have no other care but to snog each other's lips off.

Arthur gave a huff, stuffing his hands in his pocket and looking into a shop window. The warped glass spoke of the building's age and his green eyes roamed over the products of the shop. Men's apparel–and he found his eyes drawn to the blue tie prominently displayed against a nicely cut suit. He tilted his head slightly and then looked back to the sidewalk, moving his feet forward to roam aimlessly amongst the town.

"Excuse me! Sir! Mister Kirkland?"

Arthur looked up surprised. Looking to the entrance of the store he had just been gazing into stood a young lanky brunette girl. Behind her glasses, grey eyes looked in trepidation.

"You are Mr. Kirkland, right? Arthur Kirkland?"

England turned more fully to her, still confused. "Yes. I am he." He paused waiting for her to say something, then finally he continued. "I beg your pardon, but do I know you?"

"Ah, no!" She waved her hands wildly and a blush settled over her cream complexion, reddening in a blush. "No. I was told to flag you down when you passed by our shop."

In defense, Arthur stiffened slightly. What exactly did that mean? He watched as she patted down her form and then pulled out a white envelope. She looked at it and then to Arthur.

"Um. Some guy came in yesterday and told us to hand it to you if you came by." She paused again and looked into the store with a begging look, then turned back and stuck the letter out into the wide space between them.

Staring at the letter for a moment, Arthur took it finally. He doubted it was anything dangerous, like anthrax or something else, but that didn't stop him from examining it carefully. There was nothing wrong and he began to rip it open. "Who was this from exactly?" he asked.

The girl shifted slightly. "A guy. Blue eyes, long blonde hair. Uh, I think he was French."

Arthur stopped pulling the letter out and looked up, face stony. "French?"

The girl gave a tiny squeak and nodded. "Y-Yes. He might have given his name, but he was talking to Richard–um, the store owner." She looked back into the interior of the shop. "I can get him if you'd like."

With a shake of his head Arthur stuffed the letter back into the envelope. "No that's alright. Sorry to have bothered you." He gave the girl a nod who looked relieved, and began to walk down the street once more. The letter crumpled in his hands and he began to make a beeline for the trashcan near the corner. _Of all the ridiculous things…_Arthur though angrily and stormed right up to the black can.

But when he actually stood right next to it, hand poised to toss the letter away, he couldn't do it. His fingers couldn't let go of the paper, no matter how much he snapped in his mind to do it. England finally pulled his hand away, body slumping and shoulders sagging. He walked over to the bench nearby and sat down, looking at the envelope_. All right Francis_, He thought sourly_, I'll bite_. His fingers pulled out the letter deftly and he flipped open the ivory paper inside.

_ Mon Chéri, I hope you did not throw this away. If you'll humor me, please go to the park._

_ Francis_

He stared at the letter. In truth he had almost been expecting another apology, so this was unexpected. He bit the inside of his cheek, gnawing at it in thought and then looked up and down the street where the park lay behind the curve of the road. Should he go? Slightly bewildered, Arthur stood up, staring at the signature and then back down to his shoes. What should he do?

* * *

He stood warily at the edge of the grass, looking around the park with darting eyes. Children and young mothers were running amongst the trees or the playground in the distance. There was an elderly couple reading by the flower garden father down and a tall burly man threw a Frisbee to his dog. But the spot where Arthur stood was silent without anyone venturing near.

It was a small jut of land that was sided by the duck pond. Shadowing it greatly was an ancient weeping willow, it's limbs jettisoning over the murky water and shadowing it. Arthur took a look around, daring even a shimmer of gold to even glimmer nearby. He dipped under the branches and to the hallow space underneath, a small smile tugging at his lips as he looked up at the umbrella of green.

He could remember when this was a sapling. In fact, he had almost tugged it out of the ground from boredom, but had been chastised out of it. He frowned as he remembered who had done so and sat down on the rock right by the water's edge. England hadn't been here in years. And as he looked up at the bowed branches and the glimmer of water about him, he couldn't fathom why. It was almost magical in a way. He closed his eyes and turned his head to meet the faint breeze that shook the leaves.

A duck squawked from somewhere and the moment was lifted. Arthur calmly looked around, feeling more at peace then he had for the past two weeks. He stopped his thoughts from going further and glanced at the massive trunk of the tree. He swore softly. Stuck inside a small hollow in one of the branches was a white letter, this time accompanied by a light pink rose. England's absinthe eyes glared at them both heatedly for a moment, then slowly it was leached away by curiosity. With a soft sigh, Arthur hefted himself off the rock and walked over the letter.

His fingers wrapped around the envelope and grabbed the rose soon after. He drank in the sight of the flower, twisting it carefully between his fingers to avoid the thorns. In truth, he did love roses. They held a special place in his memories and it was always hard to throw one away. He took in the deep perfumed scent of the flower and then moved back to the rock, folding his legs as he ripped open the parchment and began to read.

_ Arthur,_

_ I don't know if you will agree to this. You may have thrown out the first note and you will never read this one, but I feel the need to try and amend things between us. I'm sure you recognized this spot, even if it has been years since we have been here together. Or perhaps you do not? Nothing truly important happened here in action, but this was when I first realized something important. _

_ We came here on a sunny summer day, talking politics even though there wasn't any reason to. You were terribly depressed over something; I think it was the eve of the first Great War. There hadn't been any laughter between us, or anyone for a long time at that point. You sat on the rock by the water; I skipped stones silently into the pond. It went that way for a while until we got into a fight and you tripped me into the water. _

_ Needless to say, I was angry, but unfortunately I startled a few geese and they began to chase me. I had to dive back into the water to evade them, but when I came back up for air, I saw something amazing. _

_ You were laughing and you looked so beautiful. I hadn't seen you laugh in such a long time _mon ami_, that I stood there– dripping wet and covered in pond muck– to watch. You were laughing so hard that tears were in your eyes. You were clutching your stomach and your face was flushed faintly. Even your hair was ruffled. But when you looked up at me I realized something so important. _

_ I realized how much I was in love with you and your smile. _

_ I don't remember what happened after that, but that one simple memory has always been prominent in my mind. _

_ And now Mon chéri, I know you are livid with me. You have every right to be. But please humor me a little more? Head to the library when you can. _

_Ever loving,_

_ Francis. _

Folding the letter up slowly, Arthur looked to the glimmering water. So this was an apology, wasn't it? And yet… he looked back down to the paper, feeling something stir inside him. Francis had thought he looked beautiful? A small flush crept over his cheeks and he shifted his legs slightly, brows furrowing as he thought about the words.

Was he just saying this to get them back together? Arthur began to pace under the shade of the tree and shook his head. He didn't know what to make of this. It was ridiculous! A letter tied to a tree…it was like something out of a book. He set his lips in a thin hard line as he thought. There was no way he could forgive him so easily. He was touched...a little. He wanted to be angry though. He wanted to have the rage well up inside him and lash out at the gestures because he was still mad, and still hurt.

Arthur looked to the letter in his hands and then towards the park lane once more. He shouldn't go– if he did, he might just forgive the taller blonde. Arthur could hold a grudge, but it usually became insignificant around Francis. Not this time. Placing his hand against the bark, England looked to the worn path only a short distance away. Follow it to the library on the other edge of the park…or should he drop the letter into the water and let it rot?

He let the rose fall from his fingers and onto the dusty ground.

He stuffed the letter into his jacket pocket and took down the lane – in the opposite direction of the library – and towards the center of the bustling town without even a glance back to the willow or the park behind him.

* * *

Hope you enjoy it! Please review, it always helps me to know if people enjoy it or not...otherwise I usually assume everyone hates it. Oh-as an additional comment, I've started uploading the first paragraph or so of new works, so if it's a lull in updates– you can always check that out.


	2. A Light

Hey everyone! Thanks for the reviews, they're really touching and I'm pretty sure they were the best part of my birthday. Here is the second part, I promise Arthur wont be an idiot forever. Sorry this is short. I think this should be four installments, so two more to go!

* * *

Sitting inside the overly warm café in the farthest corner of the room, the sandy haired Briton stirred his spoon lazily over the countertop while resting his head against his upturned palm. He had rolled his sleeves up against the heat and flickered his eyes up occasionally to the front window as people walked by. The man casted his forest green eyes down and studied the dark dregs of leaves from his tea earlier. The waitress walked by and left the check silently on the corner of his table, giving a quiet smile as he looked to her in thanks.

He had run to the small shop as soon as he had left the edge of the park, deeming it necessary to take a calming rest with some tea. England had sat then for at least two hours nursing several cups of tea, staring at the folded letter in front of him. The edge was now stained with a brown mark of tea from the rim of his cup and several creases had appeared from where he folded and unfolded the letter intermittently. His green eyes narrowed slightly and he plucked it up from the wood table, stowing it back into his breast pocket.

What should he do? Should he follow France's instructions? It was slightly infuriating that he couldn't make up his own mind. There was no logical reason for him to be acting like a blithering schoolgirl. Arthur scowled at the thought and pulled out his wallet from his coat pocket, pulling out the right amount and placing it into the small black folder holding the check.

He stood up from the table, pulling his coat on as he looked blindly outside. He would meet Francis' challenge. He was not going to run away from whatever the hell he was doing. No, Arthur would not…but that didn't mean he wouldn't turn away at the first sight of the Frenchman.

He had a right to be pissed! He furrowed his heavy eyebrows together as he met the cool spring air, turning his collar up slightly. England gnawed at the corner of his lips and looked towards the park. Francis had been leaving him waiting for far too long. He continued to stand there in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at the lush park in contemplation. He jumped slightly when the phone in his pocket buzzed in silence.

England fumbled for it slightly, then flipped it open and pressed it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Arthur! Yo! How's it goin'?"

England gave a sigh, turning his eyes to the ground. "America. To what can I give thanks for you gracing me with a call?" He rolled his eyes.

There was a muffled sound in the background and Arthur realized in annoyance that he was eating while on the phone. "I actually had a question about one of our trade agreements, the one we had just talked over?"

Arthur rubbed at his eyes tiredly as a loud slurp came through the phone. "Alfred. Couldn't this have waited until Monday? Didn't I tell you it was my day off? I'm not even home…you'll have to wait until later" The one day America actually bothered to call with a realistic question.

"Huh? Oh…yeah. I guess you did. Sorry Artie."

"Don't call me that." Scuffing his foot to the ground Arthur was silent. "Alfred, what would you do if you need to make a decision, but you can't decide?"

"Hm. Flip a coin? Kind 'a odd to ask me, right?" America paused on the phone, his voice crackling at the loud tone. "Well…sorry to bother you. I'll call you later then. "

"Goodbye." With a snap, Arthur shut his phone. A coin? That was ridiculous. He shook his head, not believing he was going to do it and grabbed at the loose change in his pocket. Pulling out a small two pence, he lifted it to the light and watched the sun shine off his currency. "Heads I go to the library, tails I forget the whole thing," he murmured quietly and flipped the coin up into the air.

Just as he was about to catch the coin, a woman running after her loose five year old bumped into him, making him miss the coin and watch it roll down the street and into the rain gutter. The woman offered him a hasty 'sorry' and continued to run, finally catching the child. He stared at the gutter.

So…what did that mean?

Arthur sighed and took a step forward, propelling himself into the crowd.

* * *

The building was massive. It was old stone; a converted church and the stained glass windows gave a regal and tranquil look to the silent library. Arthur looked up at the familiar old wooden doors and slipped inside. It was dim, and the smell of old parchment filled his senses. With a weary smile to the elderly librarian, England began to wander about his familiar sanctuary.

What was he looking for? Another letter? He glanced up towards the cathedral ceiling, almost expecting a familiar Frenchman to be there. With a scowl crinkling his face, Arthur weaved in and out of the mix of old tomes and new novels as he glanced at the worn spines. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Not a single thing jumped out at him

After looking about the library for a half hour and seeing nothing, Arthur frowned and went to sit in his favorite spot. It was a small worn leather chair tucked behind a bookcase and in front of the tall stretch of stained glass. It was hidden in the section for mathematics and hardly a soul ever wandered by other then the occasional college student intent on studying. As he walked towards the farthest corner of the library where the spot was located, he paused to grab a book– one he knew just by the weight and touch of the bound work– and didn't even glance down to check if it was right. If he was here, he might as well do some reading.

He furrowed into the chair and placed the book on his lap. _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_, the cover told in gilded gold. He fingered the red leather binding for a second and then fingered the pages as he looked for a play to read. He hesitated as a gap became apparent, something was stuck between one of the pages.

England blinked slowly as a cream envelope appeared, gently placed into the spine in front of one of the multiple sonnets. He frowned, picking it up and staring at it. He looked to the sonnet it had place marked. Sonnet 29. Arthur looked back to the unmarked envelope and opened it slowly.

_ Arthur,_

_ It seems you've decided to humor me–though I know this is your favorite book and you will get to it eventually, even if you ignore me and ripped up the previous letters. Maybe you are doing so now to this letter as soon as you saw my handwriting, but if not – I wanted to write to you again. _

_ Do you know this is one of my favorite spots? It is a plain place, other then the old remnants of the church long converted, but it is not the thousands of books that line these walls that make it so wonderful. It has become a sanctuary for me, perhaps as much as it is for you. It is magical for me. _

_ I have waited for you here many times, you reading in the chair waiting for me while I waited for you to finish the page before I came into view. No matter what has happened, I could almost always count on finding you here, reading a book in the soft colored lights of the glass. I could be miserable, hurt, angry, depressed…anything– but I would come here, see you read and know that there was at least one thing beautifully constant in my life._

_ This is also where I realized that I wanted to be with you. For as long as I could hold you. _

_ There was nothing wrong the day I came to visit you here. I'm sure it was a time of peace and I was looking for you between the shelves. Unable to find you, (you used to sit in the common reading area back then) I went to the second floor to see if I could find you from above. Walking up the staircase, I turned to admire the magnificent stained glass that filled the end of the library, when something equally bewitching caught my eyes. _

_ You sat behind the bookshelves, the novel in your hands apparently too wondrous for you to even sit down in a chair properly, for you had slid down to the floor and read feverishly. The afternoon light poured through the glass and you were covered in soft rosy light. It was as though the renaissance painters had all gathered and decided to try to create an angel. You have no idea how lovely you looked just then. Your lips were parted as you mouthed the words, the light making you look flushed. Your hair had been furrowed and it came up in tufts and your eyes seemed to be made of the finest glass. No angel could have been more magnificent, mon chéri._

_ It has been my favorite place to wait for you, and I would wait for you forever if I had to. _

_ Angleterre, there is no rose for me to give you here, for I think the beauty of the rosy glass would put it to shame. Go to the teashop next if you will still listen to what I have to say. I realize my own words may be grating to you now, but I chose the sonnet for a reason. _

_ Forever waiting,_

_ Francis_

England pressed his lips together and looked up to the stained glass window. He had never noticed the colored light that fell down from it, perhaps because he was too engrossed in the print before him to pay it any attention. He licked his lips against the dry air and then glanced back down to the sonnet lying open in his lap.

_Sonnet 29_

_When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, _

_I all alone beweep my outcast state _

_And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries_

_And look upon myself and curse my fate, _

_Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, _

_Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, _

_Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, _

_With what I most enjoy contented least; _

_Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, _

_Haply I think on thee, and then my state,_

_Like to the lark at break of day arising _

_From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; _

_For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings _

_That then I scorn to change my state with kings._

Blinking again, Arthur found his voice clogged in his throat. He was touched, fully this time. Though literature had always been a weak point for him, the letter was touching in its own heart wrenching way. There was a buzzing voice in his mind that yelled at him to remain mad, but he stared at the letter unmoving. Dare he follow?

Tracing his fingers against the words, Arthur let out a soft sigh and gazed to the brilliant window above. Damn that bloody frog. He got up and tucked the book back into the shelf and then walked silently out of the library and to the bright street outside

* * *

Well, Sonnet 29 is quite obviously not my work, but Shakespeare's. I like his sonnets, just hate reading his plays *grumble*, too bad I'm and English major, no? So please review! It's wonderful to know what you all think of the story, I really take all the reviews to heart.


	3. A Sight

Hello all! I'm amazed at the response to this story, you guys know how to make a girl tear up. Well here is the third part, and I hope it sates you– this part was kicking me in the but with writers block and I wanted it to be perfect. I hope you like it and reviews are always appreciated greatly! Next chapter is the last, so enjoy!

_Chris

* * *

As Arthur stood in front of the rickety shop, he couldn't help but wonder where the trust in France came from. He stepped inside, listening as the door bobbed against a bell. The interior of the shop was old and filled with dark wood. An attendant walked around lazily, dusting off cans of tea that covered all facets of the store. He turned around at the bell and gave a 'hello' before returning to his work. England looked around, expecting to see another envelope of white, but there was none to be seen.

He casually went around, heart beating quickly in wonder and anticipation. Only to fall when there was no sign of anything possibly in the shape of a letter was seen in the tiny shop. Arthur sighed, feeling like an idiot and went to buy a tin of Earl Grey.

This was stupid! What was he expecting from France? He'd already been letdown plenty of times before–it was the whole reason for their breakup.

As he was through his angry rampage of thoughts, he looked to the front and saw a letter behind the registers. He blinked and cooled down slightly, wondering how he had missed the blatant white envelope and the nearly garish red rose lying next to it.

Taking a few steps forward, England came to a stop in front of the register and watched as the attendant came to a stop behind the register. "Something I can help you with, sir?" he asked.

"That letter behind the counter, was that set aside for someone?'

"Yes. A mister Kirkland if I remember right." The attendant looked up, his rich dark brown eyes registering Arthur carefully. "Would that be you?"

"Yes, actually." Arthur was feeling a little curious as to why the letter was behind the counter and it was a little awkward asking for the envelope and rose.

"Alright then. Three questions." The man gave a small smile and leaned against the counter, face coming closer to Arthur's and steeped his fingers together.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Questions three, I must ask thee." He paused and gave another grin. "Man, not my idea – I'd just give you the letter and kick you out. The Frenchie who came in asked me to ask them." He shrugged and pulled away, standing up and folding his arms. Now that Arthur could get a look at him, he seemed to be Spanish. "So, answer the questions?"

With a nod, England watched as the young shop attendant grinned and held out three fingers. "_What_ is your name?"

_Oh god, please not Monty Python_. "Arthur Kirkland."

The man nodded and ticked a finger down. "_What_ is your quest?"

"Really?" Arthur gave a groan.

"Naw, man I was just messing with you." He paused and became pseudo-stern when England gave him a glare. "What is your favorite tea?"

"Earl Grey."

"How much do you want?"

Arthur stared at him in confusion and the storekeeper gave a smile. "Excuse me?"

"He's paying for tea. How much do you want?" He walked out from behind the counter and grabbed a few tins, juggling them as he walked around. "We've got a few varieties if you want to take a look." When there was no answer, he turned around. "Sir?"

Arthur was staring at the letter and then turned. "A small traditional Earl Grey then."

The attendant nodded and brought a black tin with him. As he began to package it, he slid the letter and rose over to England. He didn't say another word, but kept smiling. When he finally handed over the package, a sigh fell from his lips. "Dude, you've got a keeper. Wish my girl did something for me like that."

Arthur blushed lightly and took the items away. Saying a stiff 'thank you' for the tea, he left the shop as the attendant called out a cheeky goodbye, and began to walk to a nearby bench.

As he set the tea down, England sat comfortably on the black bench and studied the letter. It was the same as the last three, the only difference was the rose that accompanied it. He gave it a secret smile and then opened the letter.

_Arthur,_

_ I will be assuming that you are not ripping up these letters to oblivion, but are reading them. That small notion makes me happier then I have been since you left. It has been very dark and lonely without you Arthur, my love. _

_ You have been the constant flame in my life, the glow that keeps me striving forward to better myself and survive in this hectic world. Since you have left, that light has been extinguished and I have fallen into darkness. I pray that my light will return to me someday. There isn't a moment I have not missed your presence in my arms, or even simply being with you in the same room. I pray we can make amends. _

_ As you may have guessed, I have led you to another place that is important to me. You may not recognize it, but it is where I went to bring you tea when you ever ran out. You mentioned once in passing years ago how you liked this brand, and I have kept it to heart. There is nothing better in the world then to see you open the tin and take a lusty breath of air while you savor the scents and flavors of the leaves. Perhaps you have never noticed, but you become distant when you choose and study your teas– the same concentration given to the dried leaves like a musician to his tool. It is as hard to pry you away from tea for conversation, as it is to take a musician to break away from his music mid song. _

_ I am most fond of the time when I came to visit you for Christmas before we were a pair. We got snowed in, which was not bad since it was Christmas Eve and there was much to talk about in front of the fire, but you had run out of tea and were bemoaning the fact. I went out into the storm not long after (your pout has way of making me do anything mon cheri). This shop was the only one open, but all was worth it seeing your eyes light up when I came back. I still remember how you told me it was the best tea you'd had. _

_ There is not much else to say mon cheri, I am miles away from you as I write this, and yet all my thoughts yearn to be within your embrace once more. My fingers ache to touch your face once more, and all I can do is hope. All I can do is beg forgiveness again and hope you will listen to my words. All I can do is pray. _

_ Arthur, my love, the next letter is in the store at 31 Walburn Avenue. I hope you will continue to read them all. _

_ Forever faithful,_

_ Francis. _

Arthur put the letter down into his lap, canine biting into his lower lip. He remembered that night, actually. He had forgotten to buy the tea along side with the ingredients for the dinner and had spent the chilled night silently longing for the herbs and leaves. England hadn't said a word about it– and he did not pout, and yet Francis seemed to hone in on that small fact and went gallivanting through a snowstorm to get him a tin.

A smile tugged at the memory of seeing France come back to the house, hair wet and face flushed with the cold, but a brilliant smile etched on his lips. Arthur had quietly berated him for getting so wet with the snow, but Francis had merely sniffled and with a laugh, he produced the tin that he hadn't told Arthur he had left to get. England had looked up then in amazement, staring at the reddened nose and cheeks which contrasted so beautifully with the ocean blue eyes he had fallen deeply into. He had thanked the shivering man and promptly set him in front of the fire with his warmest quilt– after he had stripped off the soaking clothes of course, and had made them both a mug of hot tea.

It was the best tea he'd ever had.

Fingering the smooth paper, the smile stayed on his face. It really had been kind of him to go out like that. Arthur hadn't thought of that memory for a long time and he wondered briefly why. There was a tugging from the breeze in the air and Arthur stood up, stowing the now precious tea into his coat. He looked around him to garner his bearings and set off to the close store.

As he walked down the cobbled pathway, his mind stirred over France. Francis could be the most romantic and faithful lover, but he could also be the biggest sodding jackass the world had ever known. But wasn't Arthur himself in that same boat? He sighed and kicked at a random pebble, watching it skip across the street and still.

He was still conflicted in his thoughts, but stopped in front of an old building as he came upon 31 Walburn Ave. He frowned at he looked at the shop sign. He had to have mixed it up, this couldn't be the place. England quickly unfolded the letter and stared at the address, and then the gleaming silver letters on the building's façade. It was right, but why on earth would Francis send him _here_?

With a sigh, Arthur took a step inside the shop looking around at the products as the cashier looked up bored.

"Welcome to Joseph and Brothers Mirror and Glass Emporium. Is there anything I can help you with?" The girl gave him a smile, her face suddenly red as she looked at Arthur.

"No, thank you. I'm just browsing." England took a step away from her and began to walk through the maze of mirrors, searching for the tell tale sign of the white envelope. This time, the letter was surprisingly easy to find. It was just around the corner on a wall filled with antique mirrors. It was overwhelming the sheer beauty of each of the carved frames, almost making him feel tiny from some of their sheer size. England finally walked up to the largest and most grand where the envelope lay tucked in the corner of the gilded gold frame. He plucked the envelope and gave it only a glance before ripping into the folded paper in his hands.

_Arthur,_

_ I've brought you here to show you what I find most beautiful and precious in my life. _

_ Francis. _

Arthur stared at the short note, flipping it over and searching for more words. When he found none, his absinthe eyes curled over every word in confusion. What was he going on about? There was nothing here but mirrors.

Frowning, the sandy haired Briton looked up to see if there was another note tucked behind the frame when he noticed his reflection. His reflection was rippled through the mirrors of the entire wall, each of the ancient and magnificent frames featuring him. His breath caught in his throat as he realized what Francis meant.

England stood there, gazing at his reflection in disbelief and then back to the letter. He looked back up again to watch his mirrored self drag away brimming tears because he was _not crying_ damn it. He rubbed at his eyes, a small sniffle furrowing its way in and he looked around wildly for the Frenchman. Where was he? That over rated, pompous, loving and kind git– where was he?

Arthur looked desperately down to the letter. There was no further information, nothing to tell him where Francis could be. A tear fell down to the paper, making it translucent in splotches and England glanced to the door. He took a step forward, slowly moving. Another step and he was gaining speed. Yet another and he was running to the open air, searching for the man that had made him cry and his heart beat wildly.

* * *

Please review if you enjoyed it!


	4. My Love

And so here is the last scene to end this story, I hope you will all enjoy it as much as I have had fun writing it. It has been amazing all the heartwarming reviews you have all written me–and believe me, I read each one three times with a smile. I'm a failure when it comes to romance, so I hope this comes to your expectations.

_Chris

* * *

Icy rain beat down angrily through the streets, splattering the awnings of shops and the umbrellas of all the wise few who had known the beautiful spring day would not last. The rest scurried to cover, taking refuge in shops. There were also the young teens who simply shrugged at the heavens and allowed themselves to become drenched. And then there was Arthur, standing miserably alone in the rain. He couldn't find Francis. Every place he had searched, there was no sign of the golden hair or knowing smile. Nothing.

He gave a short yell of frustration, sending a few passersby to give him odd looks before scuttling off. That idiot! He wasn't at his house (he had almost been expecting him on his porch), he wasn't at his own home, he wasn't anywhere downtown–not even the library to which he had had to beg the librarian to allow him in because it was closing time. Nowhere in that beautiful stone building revealed France's figure.

Arthur was now running towards the last spot he could think of, and if he wasn't there, then Arthur would be lost. His foot fell into puddles, soaking his feet and socks, and yet all of his thoughts were trained on just getting there. The Briton's chest was on fire, twanging with each breath from running so far and long.

The park was quickly on the edge of his vision, the lush verdant scar in the town gleaming in lamplight and the glistening rain. His pant legs became flecked with mud as he ran, and his clothes were quickly being plastered to his frame. He finally saw the old tree in the distance and put a burst of speed in his step to get there faster.

When Arthur finally came to the grass, he nearly slipped on the slick ground. He took a deep breath to steady himself and dipped under the curtain of heavy branches.

He was there.

England had finally found Francis. Apparently the other man hadn't heard him, for he was staring out at the water of the lake and fingering a small smooth stone in his hand. The Frenchman's hand bent back and then snapped out, sending the rock skipping across the water six times before landing into it's watery resting place. His angular face was turned enough that Arthur could see the forlornness in his features, even his posture held a note of sadness.

"Francis." Arthur breathed, panting still from running.

He turned around, finally hearing the other man over the patter of the rain on the leaves. Francis' eyes instantly warmed, although his face stayed neutral. "Arthur."

He then descended on him, taking quick steps and threw himself into Francis' arms, burying his face into the crook of the other's shoulder and taking in a shuddering breath through the cloth. England felt him take a step back, having not expected the sudden embrace, though he tightened his own arms tightly around Arthur's shoulder's as though he thought the man would simply disappear into a wisp of smoke.

France took another step back, trying to gain his balance and suddenly Arthur was plunged into the icy spring water. He came up for air, detangling himself from Francis' loving grasp and spluttered out the awful pond water. Wiping the water from his green eyes he saw Francis come up, his hair a golden curtain in front of his eyes.

With a quiet and choked laugh, Arthur moved forward to brush the locks out of his lover's eyes, gazing quietly into the sad cerulean blue. England blinked back the tears that were still falling as Francis lifted his hand up and touched Arthur's cheek.

"I didn't think you'd come." He said, and Arthur could hear the rough quality in his voice that spoke of remorse.

"Y-You bloody git," the tears that had been falling had swollen his throat and it was hard to speak. "Of c-course I did."

"_Mon cheri_, are you crying?" Francis waded closer, till their bodies were nearly touching.

"N-No." He swallowed to try and clear his voice. "It's just th-the rain."

A soft smile lit Francis' lips and he leaned forward, pressing a feather light and tentative kiss to Arthur's cheek. "Rain doesn't taste like salt," He whispered against Arthur's skin.

"Sh-shut up." Unlike how Arthur would have normally acted, he simply snaked his hands around the other man and held him close, grasping onto him like a lifeline. Francis kept his face against Arthur's and they stood in the water and rain silently.

Finally Francis bent his head down. "I'm so sorry Arthur, for letting you down when I should have been there." He paused and pulled away to look at Arthur's red-rimmed eyes. "I don't know how I forgot our anniversary, but the other two times were because of meetings…though it does not excuse myself from not calling–"

He was cut off as Arthur pressed his lips gently to Francis', silencing him with the chaste kiss. "You talk too much." He mumbled and pulled away to wade out of the freezing water. Francis followed behind him, righting the Briton as he nearly fell back under the water from the uneven terrain. They finally got to the shore, and Arthur sat with his knees to his chest as he looked at his lover.

"I thought it was next week."

"What?" Arthur asked, green eyes confused.

Francis lay flush against the ground, the dust dry thanks to the tree's branches arching over them. "Our anniversary. I thought it was on the twentieth." He was staring at the leaves rather then Arthur as he explained.

"No, the twelfth."

Francis flipped over slightly, face scrunched in thought. "Really? I thought we went out five days after that horrid party that Gilbert had. The one where Feliciano left crying?"

Arthur rolled over to look at him, not caring about the dirt that was caking him. "We did."

Francis stared at him for a moment before a small smile tugged at his lips. "Then it's the twentieth."

"What? No it's not. It's the twelfth."

By now Francis was laughing, and Arthur's face was garnering a blush quickly. "Ah, _mon cheri_, you have the date wrong. Feliciano was crying because it was the Ides of March–the day Caesar died and it was the day Rome always fell into a depression. Five days to that is the twentieth, not the twelfth."

Silence was only taken away as the rain pattered down, Arthur stared at him with his mouth open, trying to form a word, and yet nothing came out.

Francis chuckled slightly and tugged the smaller man into his arms. He placed a kiss down on Arthur's head and let his face stay there.

"You still missed the other two dates." Arthur finally muttered weakly.

"_Oui_. I did, there is no good excuse for them." There was another beat and finally Francis gripped tighter onto the Briton, turning his head so he could gaze into Arthur's absinthe colored eyes. "I missed you too much. Please don't leave."

Arthur shut his eyes from the pleading blue and burrowed his face into Francis' shirt. "Only if you'll take me again."

"I'll take you right here."

"Oh, do shut up. Bloody perverted frog." Arthur mumbled, swatting his arm, though neither moved. Francis leaned down and pulled him into another kiss. It was passionate, though slow. Arthur wondered what drugs he had been on to make him want to break away from the other man. He could feel the tenderness in Francis' lips and nipped at them with his teeth.

He rolled Arthur over, straddling his waist and deepening the kiss gently. They continued to stay like that, content with the slow passionate kiss that was being shared until Arthur pushed him away, a smile sitting on his lips. "I've missed you too. I want you back home."

"My sometimes home?" France said with a nip, pulling up and sitting back on the dusty ground.

"Your always home." Arthur corrected and reached out to France's forehead, wiping away the grime that had accumulated there. He was silently wiping the dirt off his own clothes soon after.

"Thank you."

"What? What for?" Arthur didn't look up as he stood up and tried to get rid of the dirt on his backside.

"For reading the letters." He reached out and held onto Arthur's leg, resting his damp head there quietly. "I thought you would have ripped them up."

"You humored me," England said softly, putting his hand on top of Francis' brilliant golden hair and stroking it lightly. They stayed like that for a while. Listening to the city around them and the rain falling to the water and leaves. It was calm and it allowed Arthur to remember just how much it had hurt to be away from Francis. Yes, he could steel himself and keep on going, but it didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Finally moving after five minutes, Francis kissed Arthur's knee and then got up while smiling at his once again lover. He pulled a full white rose from his jacket pocket and placed it into Arthur's left hand. "Let's start over again, okay? This time I promise I'll be there."

Arthur nodded and held the rose tightly. Another kiss, more passionate and hot, was shared and Arthur suddenly found himself against the bark of the tree. Francis leaned in, pressing their foreheads together.

"I missed you."

"I know. You talk too much."

Francis complied with a smile and the kiss was renewed.

And Arthur thought all was right once more.

* * *

Thank you for following this story everyone! Thank you for all the support and I hope you remain well.

_Chris-Remmey


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